


finding a light in the darkness (reflected off a man's bald head)

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: Repeated rants, thoughts of love, alcohol, and some virgin sex on the beach.





	finding a light in the darkness (reflected off a man's bald head)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/gifts).



"Winters!" Grantaire exclaimed, taking a large gulp from the fresh tankard that had just been placed in front of him. By Bossuet's note, it was his fourth or fifth of the night—he'd agreed to drop Grantaire off by the door, and then spent a good fifteen minutes trying to find parking, but he was relatively sure the man hadn't gotten in more than one and a half drinks during his absence.

"I know of them well," he replied, carefully sipping his third Virgin Sex On The Beach, which was proving to be delicious both to his taste buds and sense of ethics and wordplay.

Grantaire tipped his glass towards him while grinning sardonically. "Then you'll agree that they're the absolute worst. An unmitigated disaster, meant to punish those of us foolish enough to live outside the tropics. Certainly there are bright points within the dark mess, but those are mere brief glimpses of candlelight, easily blown out by the calendar's swift progression, or the pettiness of human existence.

"If I had my way, they would be outlawed and autumn would progress directly into spring. Failing that, I'd learn the secrets of the bears, adopt the practice of hibernation, and sleep through the whole mess.

"However, it still comes year after year, heralded by the Autumnal Equinox. Soon after, cold winds start blowing, and the temperature drops, and by Yuletide we may as well be embedded in a block of ice. And just as surely as the progression of the seasons, my alarm clock seems insistent on alerting me that it's time to continue my endless drudgery, forcing me to commute to and from work in twilight. An weekends are no better: by the time I've woken up, after a night of making merry by what means of artificial light I can, the sun is already beginning to contemplate its own return to parts unknown.

"Why if I…."

"You forgot the about pneumonia."

Grantaire, pausing in his grand proclamations, stared wide-eyed at his friend, who merely shrugged.

"Usually, somewhere around the block of ice, you mention how you caught pneumonia for five years in a row as a child, and how it nearly killed you. Or you bring up my dear Jolllly's endless winter cold, and his inability to differentiate m's and b's, leading to the new holiday tradition of a berried christ-bass."

If anything, this only made Grantaire look more confused. "How—"

"You've been giving the same speech nearly nightly for the past week, Grantaire. Now I of course don't mind—your company is wonderful, and only more appreciated now that Joly and Musichetta are home visiting their families, leaving those of us with few relatives, or at least few with whom we'd like to maintain connection, alone in the city—but perhaps it's time that we call it a night."

Grantaire seemed to collapse in on himself at the idea, but nodded his agreement and quickly drank the last of his ale while Bossuet fished enough money out of Grantaire's coat to leave a generous tip.

The way home was quieter than the bar, both because of a lack of ambient noise, and because Grantaire managed to fall asleep on the way home. Of course, the engine was still a little noisier than ideal (Bossuet really should get it looked at, but it kept on coming back making worse sounds when he did), but it made for a good counterpoint to the Christmas songs playing on the radio. The trip may have been nicer with a couple pints of alcohol in him, but Grantaire was less likely than him to stay sober, and so with both of their usual designated drivers out of town, it was up to him to bear the mantle of Super Awesome Non-Drinking Person and drive him around. (Plus, it meant that he wouldn't have to do garbage rotation for the next month, which was always a relief. Things tended to topple over less when he wasn't the one manning the bins.)

Grantaire looked kind of stupid in the rear-view mirror, all passed out in the seat beside him. His face was still red from getting drunk and there was a little bit of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. He'd probably be splayed all over like a starfish if he was lying down, but the chair and seat belt were doing their jobs of holding him in place for now, save for his head which was lolling to the side. It was actually adorable in a very R-ish sort of way.

Really, all the ways he loved Grantaire were stupid, but that was part of the attraction, probably. It was different than his love for Joly or Musichetta, of course, but so was his love for each of them in turn: Joly was his soulmate and Musichetta their goddess-like mistress. Grantaire was harder to place a label on, but then things were always messier with him. Maybe _partner_ would work; the two taking on the messier sides of the house, enjoying the louder, bawdier songs together and the sloppier kisses and more casual sex. And in times like this, they could revel in their loneliness together, and somehow make even the darkest and coldest of nights seem warm. (The several bottles of wine and joints they passed back and forth certainly hindered neither their need for light nor warmth.)

R woke by himself once they arrived home, and Bossuet was almost disappointed. It would have been nice to kiss him awake, though in retrospect leaning over the gearshift would have probably ended in a tangled mess, and walking around the car to do the same would have given a few opportunities for him to startle awake from the noise before any such kiss was landed.

Bossuet claimed the much-desired kiss on the couch instead, once he'd grabbed two beers from the fridge and cleared off some of the trash from the previous night's fast food dinner.

Tonight would be another night of watching a mix of holiday rom-coms and Rankin-Bass stop animations, providing commentary and singing along until one of them fell asleep or they decided to retire together to the giant bed that felt far too empty with two of its usual residents missing.

Still, there would be cuddles and spooning and drunken kisses, and if they were lucky, they'd grab a few hours of precious sunlight before starting the cycle once more.

Maybe it was an odd way to be spending the holidays, but there was little that Bossuet would prefer. After all, he liked his loud partner, and the quiet moments of casual intimacy they shared. Still, he could only count down the days to when the others would be home, and they could all start the new year together.


End file.
